


Brave or Fool

by theskyeskye



Series: Courageous Acts [3]
Category: The Hobbit (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-24
Updated: 2013-01-17
Packaged: 2017-11-22 07:08:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/607165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theskyeskye/pseuds/theskyeskye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo's bravery once again, saves the company. But at a grave cost. Thorin must do the unthinkable to keep his hobbit alive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Duty

**Author's Note:**

> So this is the next part of my Courageous Acts series and it'll be a couple chapters long. Maybe three or four at the most. It was somewhat inspired by a prompt I received on Tumblr"
> 
> "I am seriously in need of a thilbo fic in which bilbo gets injured and thorin gets all worried and protective but also mad as hell at whoever hurt his halfling. Also i'm not talking papercut but more like stab wound. Something a dwarf wouldn't just brush off as an annoyance. But really any hurt/comfort fic would make me insanely happy! Thanks!"
> 
> As you guys have probably figured out I always end up only loosely following prompts. I'm an ARTIST what can I say. Hahaha. Just kidding. I'm a goof. 
> 
> Anyway. I really hope you enjoy this, show me some love with a comment/kudos. I love hearing your thoughts on what I've got going. You guys help keep me in check. 
> 
> Happy Holidays to you all, enjoy!

It took no small measure of bravery to face the spiders. Bilbo had never known how brave he could be. _Bravery,_ he thought to himself as he hefted his blade, _is a nice way of saying completely mental._ That’s how he felt while staring into the maw of an arachnid that could certainly gobble him up in a few slurps. He felt like he’d gone utterly insane. Silently he wished he was back home in the Shire, living cozy in the hill, his hole in the ground, with all its comforting smells and polished wood furnishings. He wanted to be in his bed, surrounded by the dust of his maps and books.  
  
“Back! I SAID BACK!” Bilbo brandished the weapon at the beast, slicing and hacking at anything he might reach while it reared its head, thick, sticky fluid dripping from it’s fangs that caught at Bilbo’s sleeve. The spiders reared their fearsome faces and Bilbo had to be quick to deflect and to fight back, though perhaps he was not quite quick enough. Something stung along his arm, but he ignored it. His body burned with adrenaline instead, fear pumping through him like a toxin. It was the only thing that kept him moving, his body wanting to give out, his eyes stinging...  
  
Everything was nearly too much. The sight of his friends and Thorin coiled in the nasty webbing of the beasts, wiggling to get free, their muffled screams of fear coming through the silk, spurned Bilbo on just a bit more, just a bit longer...  
  
Luck was on Bilbo’s side as he finally drove the demons back. He had to work quickly to be certain that the spiders would return soon enough. As he slowly cut his friends free his body began to feel heavy, sluggish even. Perhaps it was merely the adrenaline wearing off. It must have been. The pang of pain he’d felt earlier was forgotten in the wake of trying to free the company from their prisons. Once Thorin was loosed from his web cocoon, Bilbo let himself drop down in exhaustion, letting the dwarf King assist in the freeing of the rest of their companions. Everyone seemed worse for wear, but, they’d avoided being eaten yet again, all thanks to the bravery of a hobbit.  
  
A hobbit whose hearing was starting to leave him. He could hear the dwarves speaking, thanking him, but suddenly everything seemed... fainter. Or maybe it was he who was growing faint. In his head Bilbo could hear the rush of water as if he’d stuck it into a freezing river and let the current pass over him. The darkness of the forest was growing darker yet, or was that his vision? A figure came into his field of dimming vision, and Bilbo swooned a bit as he tried to focus on it, make sense of what he was seeing.  
  
“Bilbo?”  
  
The fuzzy sight of a flapped hat and a worried face might as well have been a puzzle. Oh he knew that face, but what was the name? It was on the tip of his tongue... Bilbo opened his mouth to speak but simply mouthed something wordlessly in response. His voice refused to come to him, it had fled with the last of Bilbo’s strength.  
  
 _“Bilbo?!”_  
  
Something wasn’t quite right, Bilbo realized belatedly. He was having a hard time holding onto any one train of thought, his mouth felt like it was full of wool, and his throat was too tight. Another outline came into sight as he nearly fell over completely. His world had been tipping back but he was caught up quickly. There were strong hands grasping at him, deep dwarvish bellows of his name, but it all felt and sounded too distant. Those bellows, the deep tone, he could recall that voice whispering in his ear under the cover of night beneath a moon filled sky. _This will protect you..._ **Thorin**. Thorin was holding onto him. Why did he sound so worried? Bilbo couldn’t make sense of it. He tried to speak again but all that came forth was a wheeze of discomfort.  
  
The rushing of water in his ears drowned everything else out. He saw Thorin’s darkened figure before him, long pointed nose, silver streaked hair, deep-set ice storm eyes. He wondered if he was dying, if this would be the last thing he saw. He decided if that was true that he didn’t mind too much, and then the corners of his vision began to fade, a black vignette slowly closed over it... and then the world was gone and he could feel, nor see, nor hear a thing.  
  
 _ **Unconscious.**_  
  
Thorin grasped uselessly at Bilbo’s upper arms and shook him, trying to wake him, calling his name again and again, but Bilbo’s grip on his sword slipped and it landed on the earthen ground with a thunk. He slipped away right under the dwarf’s gaze, much against his will.  
  
“He will not stir,” Balin pointed out to the King, stepping closer himself as the ranks of the dwarves circled around Thorin, Bofur, and the unconscious hobbit. He looked pale, the corners of his mouth were dotted with white, thick spittle, dark circles developing under his eyes. The rosy nature of Bilbo’s skin was lost. It was unsettling to see the halfling look so deathly. Thorin looked up at Balin from where he knelt, still grasping a bit too tight at their burglar’s arms. The wise old dwarf gestured to a tear in Bilbo’s sleeve along his forearm. He hadn’t noticed it in his haste to catch Bilbo, but he looked down and there it was.  
  
Under the parted cloth, was a long, jagged wound, oozing blood. It looked oddly dark, the edges of the cut a deep purple, and bruising was spreading. Thorin grasped at the hobbit’s forearm and lifted it, sniffing idly. The rank stench of venom and blood hit his senses and he pulled his head away, easing the little man to the ground. A cold, stony weight dropped into Thorin’s stomach and he thought he might get physically ill from it. Bilbo had been injured saving them. The fool.  
  
“He’s been poisoned,” Bofur announced gravely from where he still knelt beside the halfling as well. Balin nodding once to confirm, not just to Bofur, but to the entire party. There was a low murmur among the company as they all exchanged worried glances. None of them wished this sort of thing to befall their hobbit. All had grown to enjoy him, and all owed him their lives.  
  
“He needs medicine,” Fili prompted, his tone surprisingly serious. The usual lopsided grin he wore was turned downward into a tight, unhappy frown. His brother’s face was just as dark to match. There was a sudden somberness that overcame all of them as they realized, out here, in the middle of the wood, there was no easy medicine to come by. No help could be found here.  
  
 _Almost_ no help. No help that Thorin might seek. Thorin raised up, standing once more, and looked to his company as they all awaited his command. Bilbo coughed and gave a feeble whimper but did not wake, and for a moment Thorin’s eyes were dragged back down to him where he lay, away from his men.  
  
“We will not let him perish here in these woods, not without a fight. But if he should pass on, we will take his body to Erebor. He will see the end of this quest, if I have to carry him there myself. We will _not_ leave him behind... But we must move quickly. The spiders may yet come back, and I will be damned before I let them catch us after the halfling gave so much to see us saved,” Thorin commanded the attention of all his kinsmen, and confidence, while not completely restored, was certainly elevated. He was firm in his words. He’d told Bilbo he would protect him and he would not fail to do so again.  
  
“There are things in this forest that can help slow the poison,” Bofur said as he gently smoothed hair away from Bilbo’s feverish brow, “The plants... Perhaps...”  
  
He looked up at Thorin imploringly, silently asking if he might go seek out these plants. Their leader nodded, giving the permission needed.  
  
“Move quickly, Bofur, take Bifer with you. It is unwise to stray from the group alone. Fili, Kili, find me some vines, quickly,” Thorin directed, pointing toward the wooded area around the terrifying web coated clearing. Bofur, Bifur, Fili, and Kili all disappeared into the woods while the rest of the company began to take stock of anything that they’d lost, clearing any remaining strands of webbing from themselves... But Thorin stayed steadfast beside the sprawled and shivering hobbit, Balin giving the king a concerned look.  
  
“Is this really wise?” the dwarf inquired, “Carrying him could slow down the entire company. The chances of him surviving without proper medicine are dangerously slim. This is no mere spider bite. Those beasts were... were forged from dark magic. We are not equipped to treat his wound. He will likely die.”  
  
Thorin turned a sharp gaze on his friend, who looked at him with sympathy. Balin was not anymore keen on leaving their hobbit behind, but he was attempting to be a realist in a severe situation. Thorin was not prepared to lose the hobbit. Not now. He had lost far too much to lose anything more. Bilbo was not getting left behind. Thorin wouldn’t even consider it.  
  
“We will carry him as long as I am able. I... We owe him that,” Thorin said quietly, his voice firm, leaving no room for argument. A sharp whimper from the unconscious halfling drew Thorin’s gaze away, his brow creasing with worry against his will. Balin, who had known Thorin for so long, did not miss the subtle expression. The look concerned him nearly as much as Bilbo’s wound did.  
  
“Do not let your personal feelings taint your judgment. The hobbit is not the only one counting on you, Thorin,” Balin cautioned. Thorin’s body went tense, every line of muscle was still as a stone, he refused to look at the elder dwarf, even for a moment. He knew Balin was placing the safety of their kin, of their people, of their homeland before the life of one man. One little man. And Thorin should have done so as well. He had a duty to his people, a burden to bear passed on by his father. The key weighed heavy around his neck and was warm against his skin. But...  
  
Bilbo shifted in the dirt and wheezed feebly, the sound made Thorin’s chest feel too tight, too confining, it was terribly hard to breathe.  
  
“He is one of ours, and has his place among us. I would no sooner leave one of my nephews to perish alone in this godforsaken wood,” Thorin’s words spoke of finality and Balin held up his hands in surrender, taking a step back and turning to join the other dwarves in assessing the damages of the spider attack.  
  
When the Fili, Kili, Bifur, and Bofur all returned, Bilbo’s wound was packed with plant and wrapped up tight. Thorin shed his cloak and with the vines and aid from his nephews, the affixed the hobbit to Thorin’s back, his little legs around the dwarf’s waist and his head resting against his shoulder, where Thorin could listen for his breathing easily. He was startlingly light, just as he had been when Thorin rescued him on the cliff face, and once Thorin’s cloak was back on, he was well covered and protected from the elements. He could only hope that perhaps Gandalf would return to them soon, before it was too late, and Bilbo perished.


	2. Capture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The situation is looking fairly grim, and only growing grimmer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the feedback on this series thusfar. So WARNING, if you haven't read the book, we're getting into spoiler-y territory here. So please don't get bent out of shape with me. It has been out for like 75 years okay bro. Hahaha. Anyway.
> 
> This diverges from canon quite a bit but it's keeping with the theme of the book. I think there will be one more part after this.
> 
> So! Leave some love with a kudos/comment, and enjoy!

Bilbo’s body was like a hearth against his back, warm, but nearly too much so as they trudged along through the wood. The heat was trapped in the thick layers of Thorin’s cloak across them both, but still, the dwarf could hear the telling, wheezy breaths. Bilbo was still alive. He was taken by fever after mere hours on the road again. The company had become too aware of their own mortality of late and every stir of a creature in the wood put them more on edge. Kili was travelling with his bow drawn, Fili’s hand was almost constant in it’s resting place on his sword. The dangers to be had here were many, and still no sign of their wizard. Where on earth had the blasted man gone? Always disappearing when they needed him.   
  
Bilbo’s breath was hot and damp against Thorin’s shoulder, leaving the fabric and armor slightly wetted, but he paid it no heed. They had to keep moving. As they ventured on further, anxiety increased. Their supplies were running dangerously low, and the wood seemed to stretch on endlessly.   
  
“We’re tired,” Bombur mumbled in complaint, his legs having grown weary as they’d traveled onward. Thorin sneered slightly at the complaint and Ori was quick to point out that Bombur no longer carried the heaviest weight on his knees. He pointed forward to their leader, who was striving on, steadfast, with a weakening hobbit strapped across his back.   
  
When they’d gone off the path in search for food, they had no way of knowing this would be their fate. Trussed up by spiders, hopelessly lost. Though Thorin and company were still feeling sluggish from the stinging paralytic that the spiders had used on them, Bilbo was suffering from a bite. Pure toxin, meant to soften you up inside so you’d be easy drinking. Bilbo was frightfully lucky that he hadn’t been bit deep, merely scratched by a venom dripping fang when he stabbed a spider in its nasty face.   
  
With plantlife clogged in the congealing wound they’d bought precious time for the hobbit. However, in Balin’s opinion it was a waste, and they were merely prolonging the poor man’s suffering that would inevitably lead to death. Thorin was hearing none of what Balin had to say, so the wise old dwarf had since stopped speaking to him.   
  
Three days they walked, trying to find their way out ot back to the path, three long days. Each night when they laid down to rest, Thorin laid with Bilbo pulled close, only ever half sleeping. He feared that the moment he stopped listening, the hobbit’s breathing would come to a stop, and he would die. By the third day, the last of their food was gone and any hope for them seemed as lost as they themselves were.   
  
Now that they had no food or water, things had certainly taken a turn for the worse. As they trudged on, the forest slowly darkening with night once more, Thorin knew they had to stop. And soon. He sent Fili and Kili ahead to scout for a safe looking area to rest for the night, and obediently, his nephews ventured off. When they circled back they motioned with big waves of their arms.  
  
“Clearing ahead! Looks like a good place to rest!” Kili called out, jogging alongside his brother back to the group. Thorin nodded, hitching Bilbo up higher on his back under his knees and wincing a little at the resulting wheezing sound the halfling made.   
  
“Good,” Thorin was gruff, tired, his eyes bore dark circles beneath them, and his face was positively gaunt from lack of food, but he pressed on ahead of the pack, wanting to get Bilbo lying down again so he could have another look at his poisoned wound. Without water, the fever would soon dehydrate the little man until he was a husk, and the dwarf silently wished you could wring water from stones, because there were certainly plenty of those about. As they stepped into the clearing Thorin took in the sight and was immediately put on edge.   
  
The grass here was soft and the light airy and green, and all around were smoothly cut stumps that looked like seats upon which only one sort of creature might sit. Elves. He opened his mouth to call out to his company to turn back, keep moving, and get away from the strange clearing. No sooner had he spoken, than his head grew light. He felt unpleasantly drunk, and turned, swaying like a tree in a great gale, just in time to see a ring of lights closing around the circle and his company disappearing from sight. Thorin stumbled, trying to get back, knowing immediately something was not right. Fear wrenched his gut as he dropped, like a stone, and slipped into a deep, unwanted slumber.  
  
When Thorin awoke, the first thing he realized was that he was laid across a smooth surface, his cheek was pressed against something cool. As he wearily lifted his head, he blinked the blur of sleep out of his vision. He felt as though he was still partially asleep, and he recognized his sleep had been brought on by elven magic. Why was he not surprised? He had hoped to avoid these creatures but it would seem fate had other plans. The second thing that became painfully apparent was the lack of warm weight against him.   
  
That sobered and woke him properly, and he pushed himself to his feet, finding himself clumsily tripping over them just a bit as he got his bearings. He was in a cell of some kind, his body had been stripped of weapons and he was left defenseless and trapped. So this is what the elves had in mind? To keep him prisoner. Thorin grasped at his own hair and roared in frustration, the sound tearing his throat hoarse. The noise called the attention of two guards to him from where they were seated at their post not far away, engaging in some kind of game. They both looked to the dwarf, one elf rose, whispering something to his fellow, before rushing off, while the second came toward the cell where Thorin was being held.  
  
“Thranduil wishes to see you. We have been waiting for you to awaken for some time,” the elf informed him blandly, a slight sneer on his fair features. He unlocked the door and Thorin was tempted to rush him, to make a run for it, but the thought of trying to fight off an army of Wood Elves with no weapons, no idea of where he was, and no clue what sort of situation he, was in was a foolish one. He would not risk his life or the lives of his men if they had also been captured, and he certainly wasn’t keen on leaving here without knowing where Bilbo was. Had he died? Had they pried them apart because Bilbo had finally, in that moment of absolute sleep that Thorin succumbed so unnaturally to, breathed his last breath? A cold, sinking feeling dropped down the back of Thorin’s throat and into the pit of his stomach, a feeling that he’d had before, and now had returned to make him ill.  
  
He allowed himself to be tied, the mythical elvish rope strong as iron strands, and let the elf to push him onward, out of the cells and to the throne room where Thranduil was waiting for him. The entire court was filled with murmuring elves, music playing faintly, and the Woodland king seemed utterly stoic. No impish smile rested around his lips, no mirth danced in his eyes. Thorin could recall a time when they had looked at each other with respect and even fondness but no more. The Elves had abandoned him and his people when they needed aid most. All alliances between them had been then, successfully broken. He was forced to to face the tall, pale elf, whose eyes bore into him like hot barbs.  
  
“Why was your company so deep in the forest?” The elf spoke slow, deliberate, pointedly inclining his head toward Thorin, whose jaw was set tight, refusing to answer. Slowly, Thranduil’s head tilted and twisted just slightly too one side, and he gazed down the end of his nose at the dwarf. He had aged since Thranduil saw him last, but still, the gaze was haughty in the way it was given from such an upward angle.   
  
“If you will not answer, perhaps I will have to put you back in the dungeon. A hundred years in a cell might loosen your tongue,” Thranduil was mocking him, his long, spindly white fingers clutching the arms of his throne and tapping slowly along with the music still playing in the hall. Thorin didn’t have a hundred years to waste.  
  
“We were searching for food and water, we strayed from the path,” Thorin gave an unsatisfying answer and the slight purse of the elf’s lips showed just how displeased he was. Vagueness was apparently not going to be tolerated.   
  
“Why venture through the wood to begin with?” Thranduil inquired, his voice sharp, his eyes flashing like the crown around his head did when the torchlight caught it’s reflection in the precious metal surface. Thorin clamped his jaw tightly shut and looked to the ground and the elf King saw he was not keen on answering still, so he motioned to his men, who moved to begin to take Thorin away. Thorin dug his heels in, and stopped them, a sense of leaderly propriety kicking in.   
  
“Wait! WAIT!” he boomed, struggling against the grip. Thranduil’s interest was piqued and he held up a hand to stop the guards from taking Thorin away. He fluidly inclined his head, glancing toward the floor and then to Thorin, giving him permission to speak.   
  
“My men, where are my men?” Thorin asked firmly, his tone just a bit hasty. Thranduil arched his eyebrows high and his lids fell half mast as he straightened himself up further and answered the question.  
  
“I am certain that my scouts will have captured them by now, and that they will be along in due time,” Thranduil’s words were paced slowly, articulately, and deliberately, each one striking Thorin like a hard flogging against his back.  
  
“And the halfling!? Was he not tied to me when your men brought me here, what of him?” Thorin demanded quickly, feeling the elves beginning to tug him away again. Thranduil’s impish smile returned, and his eyes held a secret. Something he knew that Thorin did not, but wished desperately to.  
  
“You only answered one of my questions, it is unfair to think I would answer both of yours,” there was something slightly playful in the elf King’s tone and it made Thorin sick to his stomach. He did not wish to swallow his pride just yet and give in. He could not answer Thranduil, lest the elves never let him leave. Then again, it appeared they weren’t going to do so anyway.   
  
“If I answer, you must let me see him,” Thorin ordered, bringing a near silent chuckle from the elven King.   
  
“ _I must_?” he echoed, mocking Thorin. The dwarf ground his teeth, the soft screech of it making the elves who could hear it wrinkle their noses in distaste. Thorin’s mouth was going to get him into more trouble if he wasn’t careful, but his pride was often in control of his tongue.   
  
“He is under my care, I owe him my _life_ , you _must_ ,” Thorin’s voice was carefully schooled to sound just a bit more pleading, and Thranduil gave a theatrical sigh, nodding once at the dwarf and motioning for the guards to stop dragging once more.   
  
“As you wish,” the elf King answered, waiting patiently for Thorin to elaborate on their venture. The dwarf straightened himself up and squared his shoulders.   
  
“We are travelling to Erebor,” Thorin stated, watching the look of curiosity and wariness tug at the elf’s eyes.   
  
“What business have you returning to Erebor?” Thranduil’s voice was accusing and tense, but Thorin had already answered the question originally asked, and wasn’t inclined to answer another.  
  
“My business is my own. And now we are equally matched in questions and answers, so, _the hobbit_ ,” Thorin’s urgency and firmness were not what swayed Thranduil. He could already deduce just what business the dwarf sought there. It was not as if they were strangers. What made him give in was the knowledge that he had Thorin captive. They had all the time in the world to pry whatever sort of answers they desired from him.   
  
“Take him,” Thranduil directed coolly, flicking his wrist toward them dwarf and his guards. It was a gesture permitting them to leave, which Thorin was all too eager to do.  
  
The two guards escorted Thorin down a winding hall to a chamber in a quieter part of the cavelike home of the elves. He slipped through the arching door and immediately saw Bilbo resting on a cushioned bed, with incense burning on a small table beside him. He had been stripped of his tattered clothes and simply tucked beneath soft woven sheets, his arm wrapped in clean bandage. The colour had miraculously returned to his cheeks and as Thorin drew cautiously closer, he wondered if perhaps it was just a trick. Was this more elvish magic and conjuring? Was this really Bilbo? He lifted his hands which were still bound at the wrist, and gently brushed his knuckles against the apple of Bilbo’s cheek. It was warm and soft to the touch. Not damp, clammy, or blistering hot.   
  
The touch seemed to rouse the hobbit just a bit and as he opened his deep blue eyes, Thorin felt his heart rising into his throat. There was a sad little whimper that left the hobbit. He was still in pain.   
  
_“Thorin?”_ the bleary eyed halfling inquired with a croak. He looked uncomfortable and confused, but the dwarf shushed him gently, giving a nod and a soft sigh.  
  
“Aye, I’m here,” he answered, “I’m here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't forget to leave some love with a kudos/comment! ♥


	3. Action

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo does what he can to bravely save the company yet again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last part of Brave or Fool. 
> 
> The next part of Courageous Acts is in the works. Ehehe. Anyway.
> 
> Hope you enjoy this bit. 
> 
> Leave some love if you liked it with a kudos/comment. c:

“I... I had a terrible dream that...” Bilbo wheezed a cough and clutched tighter at Thorin’s fingers in the warm light of this room. He couldn’t recall how he got here, he couldn’t remember what had happened. Not even a little. The way Thorin was gazing down at him, though his eyes were nearly too bleary to see it, was troublesome in how worried he looked. Was Bilbo in that bad of shape?  
  
“It was merely a dream,” Thorin interrupted, nodding at him minutely, “You are going to be alright. I will see to it, I promise you.”  
  
There was something edgy in Thorin’s voice that Bilbo couldn’t quite put his finger on. Something wasn’t right. As he tried to sit up and get a better look around, Thorin shushed him and pressed him back down into the soft mattress.  
  
“Everything will be fine,” Thorin assured, before Bilbo could even inquire as to what was going on.  Thorin’s fingers slipped out of Bilbo’s own as the guards wrenched him to his feet and away. He wanted to fight back and stay by Bilbo’s side, make sure he healed completely, makes sure that he was well taken care of. The elves, however, had other plans.  
  
“Thorin!” Bilbo shouted hoarsely as the dwarf was dragged from his sight, his heavy boots shuffling against the floor until he disappeared out of sight.  
  
When left alone, panic began to settle in. Bilbo had to force himself up from the bed, finding his clothes where they were neatly folded. He pulled each article back on in haste, listening keenly for any noise of approaching elves. His body swayed, dizzy, and still quite weak. Bilbo, before this moment, had been inclined to trust elves. Lord Elrond had been so kind, but... Seeing his friend... No. More than friend... dragged from this chamber like a common prisoner, well, that did not sit well with Bilbo. Weakened or not, he was going to find Thorin and get him out of here.  
  
He dug about in his pocket and there, still resting in his pocket thankfully, was his ring. Something in the back of his mind niggled for his attention, like a whisper, a voice that told him _put it on_ and Bilbo wasn’t keen to resist. Leaning heavily against the bed for support his slipped the ring on his finger. In a rush, the world began to swirl, and Bilbo fell over with a dull thud against the floor. If he hadn’t been cripplingly dizzy before, he was now. The strangely chaotic edge the world took when he wore the ring was a bit overwhelming, but something in him begged to carry on.  
  
He pressed his palms against the floor and clambered to his feet, stumbling toward the door. He knew he had only a small window of time before the elves would notice his absence, and any attention that was called to him would only make helping Thorin, and likely the rest of the company, get out of here that much more difficult.  
  
Somehow, his feet seemed to know where to go, that niggling in his mind whispering in a language he didn’t understand but urging him downward, left and right, ducking away from the long legged strides of the wood elves, down toward the sound of rushing water. Bilbo could feel it change the air around him, a damp, coolness. As he came down a carved stone stairwell he saw there, the river, rushing through. There he also saw cells crafted in the rock. Within them he saw his company, a somber bunch, quiet and weary.  
  
They were being guarded by two near identical elves, and Bilbo, with his clouded mind, was struggling just to stay upright. There was no way he could take on two elves to rescue his friends.  
  
From the belt of one of the elves he saw the keys hanging... If he was able to get those keys...  
  
 _I could set them free and as a group maybe we could overpower them... But how to get out of here after that?_  
  
He gave the area another look around, and spotted a pyramid of barrels. Wine that was aging and fermenting in the cool dark space...  It was with that, that his plan fully formed.  
  
Silently, Bilbo padded over to the cells, nearing Thorin where the dwarf was leaned sideways against the bars, watching the elves with a look of rancor on his regal and sharp features. As Bilbo knelt beside the king, and gently reached out. He nearly touched before he considered what sort of start that might give the dwarf so he thought better of it.  
  
“Thorin,” his whisper was lost to the elves under the rush of the water, but he was nearly pressing his face against the cage to get close to Thorin. Thorin seemed to recognize his voice, his brows rising slightly in attention. He did not move his head, but his gaze darted around, looking for the halfling, a slight crease of worry forming.  
  
“I am beside you, Thorin, even though you cannot see me. I am here. Do not call attention to us. I have a plan to get you all out,” Bilbo whispered, reaching through the bars to gently press a hand against Thorin’s chest, assuring him that it was not his imagination. Thorin’s fingers twitched, wishing to reach up and curl around the hobbit’s grasp, but he did not move. He could not risk it. If the elves saw they would grow suspicious immediately.  
  
“Did they confiscate Ori’s sling?” Bilbo inquired, glancing over at the youngest dwarf, Thorin lowered his head as if dozing and whispered back.  
  
“No. It remains with him. They viewed it as a toy... Harmless,” Thorin informed. Bilbo watched the elves to see if they’d noticed yet, but they had not. They were steadfastly looking straight ahead, looking painfully bored.  
  
“Good. Tell Ori to fire some pebbles at the elves once I have retrieved the keys from them. The distraction will allow just enough time for me to unlock the cell doors before they can stop me. Then you all must rush out and over power them. Push them into the river and let the current wash them away, that should do the trick. Then we will empty those barrels of wine and use them to escape on that very same current. It will be dangerous, but we can manage I think. Two elves is certainly no great foe after taking on an army of goblins, a pack of orcs, or giant spiders.”  
  
Bilbo’s hand pressed a little harder and his words of reassurance lended the dwarf strength. Thorin lifted his head and leaned it against the bars, and in return, Bilbo nestled his nose against the dwarf’s cheek. His breath ghosted across Thorin’s face and it seemed to bring him comfort.  
  
“Are you sure you are well enough to do this, Bilbo?” Thorin asked, his lips barely moving as he spoke.  
  
“Of course not, but that hardly seems reason to stop and turn back now,” Bilbo uttered back. Thorin fought not to smile, and then, Bilbo’s presence was gone from the cell side. Thorin ushered Ori over and spoke to him in hushed tones as Bilbo crept across the slick floor toward the elves. Tension mounted as he carefully, oh so carefully, reached out and unclipped the keys from the elf’s belt. He backed away quickly, just in time to see Ori reaching through the bars and firing off pebbles, one hitting the elf he’d just robbed square on the temple.  
  
In a near silent rage the elves marched over to the side of the cell to try and wrestle the slingshot away from the young dwarf, the commotion calling everyone to attention. Bilbo had to act quickly, going to the door and sliding the keys in the lock. With a few quick movements the door was open and the dwarves were rushing out. It took very little effort to drive the two elf guards right off the platform’s edge and into the water. Their golden heads disappeared beneath the surface of the black, rushing current and they were gone.  
  
Bilbo slipped off the ring to aid the dwarves in emptying each of the barrels but he quickly lost strength, his body still quite weak from the spider venom. Thorin did not notice the hobbit sway, his attention focused more upon getting each of the company into a barrel, floating down the waterway and out of this nightmare. As the last of his company was safely on their way down stream it was then Thorin saw him. Bilbo leaned heavily against the stone wall, looking pale, worse for wear, ready to collapse at any moment.  
  
“Come Master Baggins. You do not have my permission to give up just yet,” Thorin said firmly, helping Bilbo into a barrell as well. Bilbo curled up in the bottom of the vessel and was lost to Thorin’s line of sight quickly. Last in the water, was the king under the mountain, hoping, as they fought to keep their barrels upright, that they ended up somewhere safer. Somewhere he could see to his hobbit properly.

Somewhere he could thank Bilbo Baggins for his foolish bravery.

**Author's Note:**

> Don't forget to leave some love with a comment/kudos!
> 
> ♥


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